


All I Want Is Ice Cream

by Trying_for_Sunshine



Series: Firelord Zuko's Unfortunate Misadventures [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Fire Lord Zuko, Fire Nation culture, Gen, No one is allowed to talk badly about themselves in front of Zuko, POV Outsider, Swearing, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trying_for_Sunshine/pseuds/Trying_for_Sunshine
Summary: All Zuko wants is iced cream. And if he uses some Blue-Spirit sneaking skills to get to iced cream, well, that’s better than the entire palace waking up just because their Firelord had a midnight craving (better for him, less awkward for him, at least, in theory). Rated T for swear words.





	All I Want Is Ice Cream

Chef couldn’t sleep. The Firelord was hosting another delegation of foreign dignitaries tomorrow; the Firelord had been hosting foreign delegations nearly everyday since his coronation. And peace is all well and good, but Chef hadn’t been granted more staff and cooking food worthy for guests of the Firelord took a lot of work.

Chef had dismissed the exhausted kitchen staff as soon as dinner had been served and cleared. Chef had thought to make sushi tomorrow, his specialty; much of the preparation had already been completed.

But Chef woke with a start mere hours after he laid his head down — his subconscious reminding him that the prepared seaweed had been used today, after it was discovered the cabbage had been infested with leech-maggots. There would be no time to prepare enough seaweed tomorrow, not with everything else still to be done.

Chef thought about laying back down, Agni take it. But, if his Firelord routinely worked through the night, then there were no excuses for his failure to ensure his own work was done.

So here he was, at an Agni forsaken hour, going to the kitchens to prepare seaweed for tomorrow. At least at this hour, he wouldn’t have to deal with any interruptions, no clumsy Atlo spilling the appetizers, no nobles sending messages about how their soup was slightly less than steaming hot — and certainly, noble firebenders couldn’t just heat the soup themselves, it was below their dignity; ‘they can certainly blow their dignity somewhere,’ Chef thought, careful to never let that show on his face when confronted with such messages.

Chef unlocked and opened the door to the kitchen, using the spark rocks by the door to light the kitchen’s lamps. As he began taking down the cutting boards, he heard a noise coming from the cold room. He froze, praying to Agni it was just a lizard-mouse; if it was a lizard-mouse, he could just yell at the groundskeepers tomorrow for letting the pests get out of control again.

Chef grabbed a knife, his largest and sharpest, while approaching the door to the cold room. He opened the door; the light from the kitchen illuminated a figure rustling through the stored goods with one hand, with a fire light in the other. Chef’s heart sank.

There is no possibility the Home Guard would believe that Chef was not involved with this assassination attempt; being killed by the firebending assassin would be a quicker, less painful death than what the Home Guard would do. And perhaps, if he died by the assassin’s hand, the Firelord would allow him to retain his honor in death and his family would not be subjected to the Home Guard’s suspicion.

With these thoughts rushing through his mind, Chef yelled what all guards yell in the plays, “Freeze! In the name of the Firelord, put your hands up! The guards are on their way; you have no chance of escape!”

The figure turned, fire light flaring, and Chef thought, ‘this is it.’ Then, Chef saw the figure’s face, his heart sank even lower, and thought ‘this is really it.’ He dropped into a kowtow, “Firelord, please forgive this insignificant servant for his insult to your person! I meant no disrespect and beg your mercy!”

A choked sound came from the Firelord, then, “Please, rise, please, there is nothing to forgive. I shouldn’t - you weren’t expecting anybody to be in here. Your dedication to security is admirable; please, rise.” Chef glanced up and flinched when a hand entered his line of sight. “Please, rise.”

‘Did the Firelord wanted to help him up or hit him?’ But it was best not to make royalty wait, nor would Chef make the Firelord stoop to helping up a mere servant, and he pushed himself up from a kowtow into a standing, low bow.

If Firelords could look flustered, the Firelord looked flustered — face reddened, hand that had been extended to Chef now ruffling the Firelord’s loose hair.

After a pause, Chef asked, “Is there anything this insignificant servant can help your majesty with?”

“Oh, I was just … looking for the iced cream?”

“This insignificant servant would happily ensure iced cream is brought to your chamber promptly and apologizes that this insignificant servant was ignorant of your desires for iced cream.”

“You are not insignificant Chef Uzumi; a good meal makes all more receptive to peace. And, you had no way of knowing of my desires for iced cream. I, uh, didn’t want to disturb anyone, but I guess with the guard on the way, I fucked that up.”

Chef didn’t know to be more surprised at the Firelord’s praise, or his language. But he didn’t survive three years at the royal palace by freezing at every surprise. “My Lord, forgive my deception, the guards that I said were coming, they aren’t. That is, I didn’t call for any guards; I was hoping you were a lizard-mouse.”

“Oh, well, no lizard-mouse here.”

Chef glanced again at the Firelord, who would still look flustered if he wasn’t the Firelord, “Would My Lord like me to retrieve the iced cream for him?”

“Yes, thank you; I thought I knew where it was.” The Firelord scratched his head and glanced around hopefully, like the iced cream would appear on its own and get them both out of this, unorthodox, situation.

Unfortunately, it did not appear. Chef rose from his low bow, crossed the cold room — passing within feet of the Firelord — and reached to the top most shelf where the iced cream was now stored to save it from noble children who would spoil their dinner. After retrieving the iced cream, Chef bowed again, “There are serving bowls and utensils in the main room, if My Lord would allow this in- this humble servant to serve you.”

“If you show me where the serving bowls and utensils are, I can serve myself. I have kept you from whatever duties you were attending to long enough.”

“My Lord that would not be -” Chef eyes widened, cursing himself for almost correcting the Firelord on what is proper, “that is, my duty is to you first My Lord; it would be my honor to serve you. My other duties can wait.”

A sigh and an indistinct whisper that sounded like a curse but couldn’t possibly be lest Chef’s entire worldview on royalty need be altered tonight, then, “Thank you Chef Uzumi, your dedication is noted.”

Chef took that as dismissal to leave the room and serve out iced cream to the Firelord. As Chef took down a bowl, the Firelord came out of the cold room to sit, not at all awkwardly, at the counter kitchen staff use when scarfing down meals between duties.

Chef almost did a double take — if it weren’t for the distinctive scar, he might have thought the Firelord an imposter; what servant dressed the Firelord in rags?

No, Chef heard from Insara that the Firelord dresses himself. What Firelord, what nobility, would dress in rags? Although, what nobility fetches their own iced cream? These were new, very different times — a pleasant change from the past in some respects but did the Firelord even realize he was turning palace custom upside down.

As Chef pondered on the Firelord’s new style — would rags be the next fashion style — he placed iced cream into a bowl and fetched a spoon. While he did this, the Firelord continued to look Not Flustered.

When Chef placed the iced cream in front of the Firelord, he took a step back. It might have been a minute since he had personally served anyone, but he still remembered the etiquette; the Etiquette Mistress’s tutelage is hard to forget, for good reason.

But the Firelord looked back at Chef, “Thank you; I appreciate your service. You may go back to your other duties.”

Chef blinked. Yes, surprises he can handle, but since when did nobility, let alone the Firelord, thank servants. After a moment, Chef found his voice, “It is my honor My Lord.” He paused another moment; would it be disrespectful to prepare seaweed in front of the Fire Lord while he ate? But, the Firelord did tell him to return to his duties, and the Etiquette Mistress had provided no instructions that this would be disrespectful — although it was doubtful that this was a situation she had ever entertained as possible.

Chef decided Agni take it and went back to pulling out supplies for seaweed preparation. When he first started, he kept pausing, sneaking glances at the Firelord, looking for any sign of displeasure, but the Firelord seemed absorbed in eating his iced cream.

Eventually, Chef stopped looking. He got absorbed in his own work, thinking what else needs to be done for tomorrow and, he couldn’t help it, if rags really were to be the next fashion trend, would the paupers of the Capitol soon be better dressed than the nobility?

He was so caught up in his work and thoughts that he didn’t notice the Firelord wash and put away his own dishes. Perhaps for the best, Chef can only handle so many custom-turning actions in one night.


End file.
